Panama Hatch
by Waranpayce
Summary: Roy is dropping off a new Cadillac in Las Cruces on an early Sunday morning when he meets some rich kids in a saloon. They're on a "Pub Crawl" to Panama to see the canal change hands, but all the driving is getting in the way of their drinking. Roy agrees to be their driver, but it turns out to be more than he bargained for, a lot more.


Panama Hatch

a Roy Harper adventure

by

Waran Payce

1)

It was Roy's bladder that woke him up. Its urgent need dragged him from a dream whose details slipped away the harder he tried to hold them. Half asleep, still a little drunk from last night, he staggered to the porch to relieve himself; his brain refused to allow any thought but his body's need until he did. As the pressure was released, the crimson shaded light that was beginning to show around the edges of his world entered his awareness.

The guest house where he was staying, "as long as he wished" was located high in the hills above Santa Catalina, a small fishing and trading village on the central coast of Panama. From his perch he could see the entire town, what there was of it, hugged against the beach, shiny white sand that stretched out in both directions from the commercial dock. Past the beach, beyond the Mosquito Gulf, the Caribbean Sea stretched away in all directions to an indeterminate horizon.

The motor launch of the Eastern Star, a tramp steamer that had been carrying cargo along the Central American coast for far too long, was just pulling away from the jetty, curving through the shallow waters of the bay to the mother ship, anchored offshore in deeper water. Tomorrow he would be taking that ride as well, having joined the crew to work a passage home. Today he had resolved to make the most of his last day in Panama.

The bartender, a burly man, ebony black, with red coral beads accenting the cornrows in his long red hair, was washing last night's glasses behind the mahogany bar in the hotel cantina. When he heard the doors swing he held up his hand, calling out over his shoulder that they were not yet open, but when he saw that it was Roy he waved him in. Enrique took one look at Roy's face and began to mix a Bloody Mary, sliding it across the bar as Roy sat down. "That one's on the house, son. You look like you need it."

"Thanks, and a tomato beer too; with a bowl of your famous chorizo and eggs. Tell me Enrique my brother, if you had only one day to live, what would you do?"

"Around here?" he asked incredulously, as though Roy had asked him about flying saucers. "Are you dying, my brother?"

"Goin' home tomorrow. I'm shipping out on the Star, workin' my way back."

"That's the hard way to go, bro; you're going to earn that passage. Are we so bad that you want to leave that much? I thought you liked it here."

"I love it here, but I'm out of pesos, and they won't let me work."

"Your house is free!"

"I can't eat the house; anyway I believe that I have just about worn out my welcome with Poppa Carl. The rich kids were his nephews, and once they left his obligation to me was conditional. I believe I have probably strained it to the breaking point. When this opportunity with the boat came up I jumped at it."

"So you're leavin' tomorrow."

"Uh-hunh."

"After all these months."

"I'm outta here!"

"If you didn't want to be here, why did you come in the first place?"

The voice in the supposedly empty bar took them both by surprise and they turned simultaneously as they absorbed her words. Standing in front of the bar stood a young Indian woman, who appeared to be waiting patiently for an answer to her question. Her long, black hair was as shiny as a flake of obsidian and fell around her shoulders, setting off her smooth bronze skin. The simple green shift she wore did nothing to conceal her well-formed figure. Even in the dim light of the bar it was apparent that this was a very striking woman.

"Close your mouths boys," she laughed; apparently well aware of the effect she had on men. Finally Roy collected his wits enough to ask,

"What did you say?" She patiently repeated her question, and added,

"I have watched you around our village for the last several months. You and your friends have treated our home as your toilet, carrying on like animals at all hours. I have wondered to myself whether you have any respect for yourselves; you certainly have no respect for others. And now you are leaving, and have nothing good to say of our forbearance." Enrique looked at Roy and they both shrugged.

"Please Mother," Roy started, sweeping his sombrero from his head and bowing low, "accept my most humble apologies for any offense I might have caused, or may cause in the future. It was certainly not my intention to bring sadness to one so fair as yourself." She smiled against her will.

"What a load of manure you have unloaded in my lap. What is it that you do for an encore, senor gringo?"

"Get him to tell you how he got here, that is a story you will love," Enrique laughed. "I could almost tell you myself, having heard the story so many times, but my brother enjoys the telling too much for me to interfere. Here, sit, and as you relax I will be your host. Here, sit." Enrique held the barstool for the young lady, holding out his hand to help her up.

"Apparently you drink here often," she observed dryly as she settled into her chair.

"Too often I guess." As Roy shot Enrique a dirty look, he noticed that her movements reminded him of the jaguar he had seen in the jungle when they camped in Costa Rica.

"So tell me," she asked, "Where are you from and why are you here?" Almost as a reflex, Roy responded attentively to her interest in him.

"I drove a couple of rich kids down here; they got bored and flew home. I didn't have the money, so I'm still here."

"No, not that one," Enrique had returned with Roy's eggs and tomato beer, "Tell her the one about when you were a revolutionary, like you tell when you get drunk."

"You were a revolutionary? Where?" she asked, astonished at the very idea.

"El Norte!" Enrique exclaimed. "He fought against the war; he made them stop it."

"So that was you. I had no idea. Thank you so much, I hated that war." She offered Roy her hand, "I am Shona Ortiz, and it is my extreme pleasure to meet someone of your importance, drinking here in this little bar at nine in the morning." Her sarcasm was impossible to miss, but Roy ignored it anyway, grabbing her hand and introducing himself.

"And where are you from Shona, and why are you here?"

"I grew up in Soloma, a small village in the highlands above Guatemala City. My village was a beautiful place, a wonderful place to grow up, the best, until after I got my confirmation. Then the soldiers, who had been in our town ever since I could remember, started hanging around my mother's house.

They had never bothered me before, but now they would grab at me when I went out, and they would follow me around town, whistling and calling to me. I had to be careful never to be alone. My mother got really scared for me and sent me here, to my aunt, to protect my innocence. I could have told her to save her money, but I was ready to get out, so I jumped at the chance.

The day before I arrive my aunt drops dead, I mean, she was practically still warm when I stepped off the bus. There were no other relatives, so her place up in the hills falls to me. It's a nice place too; besides a really roomy main house it's got a mine, some cattle and horses, and many grapes. I think to myself, how ironic; I leave home to keep from getting pregnant, and end up being a lady from the moment I arrive. That was nearly seven years ago and I haven't been hungry once in all that time, nor has any pig of a soldier pawed at me."

There was a long silence when she finished. Unsure of how to respond, Roy was rescued from having to come up with a reply by the arrival of Enrique. As he unloaded the tray, shot glasses full of the amber elixir and beer cans topped with a slice of lime, Enrique encouraged him, "Tell her about when you were a gangster, back in Chicago".

"My my, a revolutionary and a gangster. How very impressive." The words were right, but Roy sensed a slightly mocking undertone.

"It was a long time ago," he demurred.

"No really," Shona insisted, "Regale me with the stories of your glorious past." Roy wasn't certain he liked her tone and certainly wasn't sure about exposing himself to any more of her scorn.

"I talk too much when I get drunk."

Enrique had come back from the kitchen and overheard Roy's reply.

"What, is the great storyteller getting bashful? You finish your breakfast; I will be your biographer until the mescal kicks in. Roy raised his glass.

"Here's to storytime."


End file.
